


Merry and Bright

by captainamergirl



Category: The Bold and the Beautiful
Genre: Christmas, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Holidays, Rare Pairings, canon tossed asunder mostly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-12 18:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21480745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainamergirl/pseuds/captainamergirl
Summary: 25 BOLD days of Christmas.
Relationships: Eric Forrester/Quinn Fuller, Hope Logan/Liam Spencer, Maya Avant/Rick Forrester, Nick Marone/Agnes Jones, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Ridge Forrester/Taylor Hayes, Steffy Forrester/Wyatt Fuller
Kudos: 5





	1. Winter Itinerary

** 1: Winter Itinerary **   
  
“Hey, Steffy, I have those proofs you were looking for,” Wyatt says loudly for the benefit of anyone walking by. For once, Pam is away from her desk. She’s likely off distributing her latest batch of lemon bars.   
  
He shuts the door, strides to Steffy, and grabs her around the waist. The white envelope in his hand digs into her back (it’s an oddly pleasant sensation) as he gives her a passionate kiss. A kiss which she returns with equal fervor, her tongue tracing the contours of his pretty mouth.   
  
Sneaking around with Wyatt these past few weeks has been oddly exhilarating. She had never planned on hooking up with her ex-husband; especially given all that gone down between them, but it was fun. It was freeing. She was having the best sex of her life.   
  
He tosses the envelope of photos onto her desk. He starts to walk her backwards towards her big, plush, empty Italian leather chair. They’ve christened her desk at least three times by now. New territory is required; not to mention, very much appreciated.   
  
_If only_ she didn’t have a board meeting in less than three minutes. A quickie would be hot and amazing, but she can’t walk into the room panting and smelling like sex. She tries to put the breaks on Wyatt's amour by slipping underneath his arm. She laughs as he immediately draws her back, crushing her against his chest.   
  
His mouth presses against the taut column of her throat. He’s quickly making her come apart. “Wyatt, I can’t,” she moans regretfully. “I have a board meeting; then I have a fitting for the new winter line, and then I have to go home and get Kelly and take her for her check-up…”   
  
“I know you’re protesting, but all I’m hearing is ‘Wyatt, keep doing nasty things to my body’.”   
  
Steffy laughs.  _“Of course_ that’s all you can hear. All the blood has rushed from your ears into your pants.”   
  
He laughs too.  _“Touché.”_ He returns to suckling on her neck. She is hopelessly into it and ready to give in; ask him to take her right then and there, but the door starts to open and her eyes go wide. She jumps away from Wyatt. No one is supposed to know what they’re doing together. It was part of their deal. And part of what makes this all so exciting.   
  
She smooths down her tousled hair and Wyatt causally drops onto the edge of the desk as Pam walks into the room. “Hey, guys.”   
  
“Hey,” Steffy says. She sounds breathless to her own ears. She avoids Pam’s eyes as she straightens her flowy black blouse.   
  
“What’s wrong, Steffy? You’re all red in the face. Do you have a fever?” Pam starts to palm her forehead in that maternal way of hers, but Steffy sidesteps her touch.   
  
“I’m fine, Aunt Pam.”   
  
“Yes, it’s just really, really hot in here,” Wyatt chimes in. Steffy shakes her head at him. He grins teasingly.  _“I mean,_ it is wintertime, but you wouldn’t know if from all of that sun streaming in the window right now.”   
  
It’s an admirable attempt at saving their faces and Steffy appreciates Wyatt for not blowing their cover.   
  
Fortunately, Pam seems none the wiser.   
  
“Well, alright,” she says. “So you’re well enough to attend the board meeting then? Your father sent me in to get you. The buyers are getting antsy.”    
  
Steffy nods. “I’m fine, and yes, I’ll be there in just one second.”   
  
“Okay, hurry. You know those monied, stuff shirt types don’t like to be kept waiting.”   
  
Steffy and Wyatt watch her leave. Wyatt immediately moves to Steffy but she shakes her head. “No, Wyatt. Not now, okay?” She says. She dabs at the corner of his mouth where her lipstick is smudged. Thank god her aunt is too oblivious to have noticed it.    
  
“I don’t want us to get caught. And besides, I really do have to get to this meeting.”    
  
“Alright, but when do you think you can pencil me into your super busy schedule?”   
  
Steffy smirks. “Well, hmm.” She pulls her cell from her pocket and feigns checking her digital calendar. “Oh here we go... I’ve got ten minutes free on December 15th.”   
  
Wyatt chuckles. “That is weirdly specific, but I’ll take it. Ten minutes is all the time I need anyway.”   
  
“To do what exactly?”   
  
“To make you fall in love with me again.”   
  
Steffy’s mouth drops open in surprise. Wyatt gently grasps her chin and draws her lips back together. He softly brushes the plump petals with his fingers and grinning, he saunters out the door, leaving Steffy wanting so much more.


	2. Christmas Lights

** 2: Christmas Lights **   
  
Hope stands on the balcony in her bare feet, lightly palming her full belly. There’s a decided chill in the air tonight, but she hardly notices. She’s far too content watching the lights sparkling from across the harbor. The brilliant reds, greens, and golds enchant her gaze. She remembers how exciting Christmastime was for her as a child. The festive lights popping up all over the city meant Santa was coming and that a lot of presents would magically appear underneath the tree with her name on them.   
  
Now, the lights remind her that her baby girl, the greatest gift of her life, will be here any day. Hope can hardly wait to meet her daughter.    
  
Hope smiles softly as the patio door slides open. She feels Liam’s familiar, strong arms wrap about her. His chin comes to rest in the halo of her wavy blonde hair as his hands stroke the curve of her stomach. “Penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Spencer,” he whispers into her ear.   
  
She leans back against him, covering his fingers with hers. “I am just thinking how beautiful the lights look playing off of the water. I feel peaceful, Liam. I am really happy.”   
  
He nuzzles her neck. “I'm happy too.”   
  
“Our daughter will be here soon,” Hope whispers.   
  
“I know,” he says. “I hope she has your eyes.”   
  
“I hope she has your smile.”   
  
“Your hair.”   
  
“Your ears.”   
  
“My ears? God help her,” Liam says.   
  
Hope chuckles. “I happen to love your ears.”   
  
She slowly pivots in his embrace so they are facing each other. Her swollen belly bumps against the line of his taut abdomen. “I love everything you are, Liam Spencer.”   
  
He grins and cups her face in his hands. “The fact you love me so much… After all the pain I put you through over the years … It truly humbles me. I don't deserve you.”   
  
“Hey, come on now. Where is all of this coming from?”   
  
“I guess seeing you grow bigger every day with our child… It just puts everything into perspective. I hurt you so much and I almost cost us this amazing moment; this amazing life we have together.”   
  
“I forgave you a long time ago.”   
  
“I know. I just want to be a good father, Hope; and I want to be a good husband to you.”   
  
“You are, Liam. You already are. I see how you are with little Kelly - how gentle and sweet - and I think how I can’t wait for our baby to experience that epic love too. And as for the good husband thing; I honestly have no complaints.”   
  
He smirks. “Really? None? None whatsoever?”   
  
“Well … You did use all of the hot water this morning,” Hope teases.   
  
“Did I? I’m sorry.”   
  
“I am kidding,” Hope assures him. “Just relax. You are a wonderful husband... Thank you for loving me.”   
  
“Now that … See that -” he kisses her gently on the mouth - “comes as easy as breathing.”   
  
Hope’s eyes grow dewy. She rests her forehead against his and they fall into a slow rhythm that is half sway, half cuddle. She snuggles into his embrace.   
  
_Home._ She’s at home - right there, in her husband’s strong arms.


	3. Warm and Toasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In my world, Taylor never shot Bill or let Ridge take the fall for it.

**3: Warm and Toasty **  
  
He shows up on her doorstep just as she’s putting on a pot of coffee. His dark hair is matted to his forehead and his expensive suit jacket is clean soaked through. It’s been wet and rainy all weekend.  
  
_“Ridge?_ What are you doing here?” Taylor asks.  
  
He offers her a smile. “Would you believe I came to see how you’re settling into your new place?”  
  
“Oh, I can believe lots of things,” she answers. “Come inside. You’re just in time. I am making coffee.”  
  
“It’s nice and toasty in here,” Ridge observes as he follows her into the house. “This is a great place. That portrait over there - it’s a Masterson, isn’t it?”  
  
Taylor nods. “You still have the eye for detail.”  
  
She leads him into the family room. A roaring fire dances in the hearth. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”  
  
He looks at her earnestly. “Thanks, Doc.”  
  
_Doc._ The familiar nickname tickles her ears.  
  
She soon returns with twin mugs of French Roast to find Ridge holding a picture of Steffy, Thomas, and Phoebe, taken in much happier times.  
  
“It’s been too long,” Ridge murmurs as his eyes trace the bright smile of the curly-haired blonde in the photograph. “Too long...”  
  
“Since we last saw her,” Taylor says. “I know. I miss her every single day.”  
  
“Phoebe. My little princess Phoebe,” Ridge says.  
  
Taylor nibbles on her plump bottom lip as she sets down the mugs. She slips into the chair across from Ridge. “She was so innocent, Ridge. So sweet and trusting, maybe too much so...”  
  
“I know. It’s almost like ... She was just too good to be here; stuck in this crazy world with the rest of us sad, pathetic creatures.”  
  
Taylor is surprised by Ridge’s words. It’s been such a long time since they dared speak of Phoebe. The pain is raw and visceral. Her chest aches with the weight of a grief that never quite goes away. Tears prick the back of her eyes.  
  
She desperately needs a distraction or she will start sobbing and never stop.  
  
“What really brings you by, Ridge?” She asks.  
  
Ridge stares at her, as if he can’t quite believe she’s changing the subject. “Taylor…”  
  
“I can’t talk about her,” Taylor chokes out. “I can’t. It makes me too sad; too sick. I’m trying so hard to get better.”  
  
“Right. Of course. I understand,” Ridge says.  
  
“Now tell me what's bothering you. Did something happen with Brooke?”  
  
Ridge sighs. “You know me so well.”  
  
“After so many years of marriage, I would like to think so.”  
  
He splays his hands. “She’s run off to Cancun with Spencer.”  
  
“Spencer? As in _Bill_ Spencer?”  
  
“One and the same.”  
  
“I wish I could say that I was surprised, but-”  
  
“No, you called it. She’s everything you ever said she was. I’ve been a fool.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, that’s why I really came here tonight.”  
  
She picks up her mug, cradling it between her tiny hands. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean, I owe you an apology. I treated you like … Like garbage for years because of my misguided devotion to her, and it was wrong. It was so wrong.”  
  
He drops his head into his hands. She realizes in that moment that he’s broken. Every bit as broken as her. So many times she has dreamt of this very moment, of telling him off in grand style, but seeing him this way, she simply can’t. A part of her will always foolishly love him too much.  
  
“I forgive you, Ridge,” she says quietly.  
  
He looks up at her. His eyes are soft and searching. “Do you really mean that?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Thank you, Doc.”  
  
She just nods. Words become superfluous.  
  
As they stare at the fire, warmth swirls in her chest.


	4. Advent Calendar

** 4: Advent Calendar **   
  
"Liam, wake up. It's time!" He feels a solid jab in his side. He immediately hurls to a sitting position.   
  
"It's time? Already? Ohmigod, I'll get the overnight bag! You... You just wait here."   
  
He hears laughter in the semi-darkness; Hope's familiar, soft, lilting giggles. "Liam, calm down."   
  
"You're in labor, Hope. How am I supposed to calm down?"   
  
"Because I'm  _not_ in labor."   
  
He pauses with one foot halfway into a pair of denim jeans. "What? But you just said, 'it's time'."   
  
"Well, it  _is_ time. But not for the baby to come. Not quite yet, anyway."   
  
"Color me confused..."   
  
"It's officially December first, Liam. Which means I finally get to open a door on that advent calendar you brought home for me a few weeks ago."   
  
Liam fumbles in the dark for the light switch. Bright light assaults his eyes and he blinks. "Really? That's why you're waking me up at -" his eye search out the red numbers on the clock - "12:02 a.m.?"   
  
"I was already up. The baby was tossing and turning like crazy so I thought why not open it now? You've been so mysterious about the whole thing; refusing to let me touch it, until the first day of December..."   
  
Liam slowly nods. "Point taken. Alright, go ahead and open it."   
  
She doesn't need a second invitation. She moves over to the old-fashioned box sitting on the dresser. She opens the squeaky door with the finely chiseled number "1" on it. Liam watches as she snitches her slightly swollen fingers inside of the little cubby hole and withdraws the two small items.   
  
He watches her, as curiosity turns to realization. Her whole face lights up and he can't fight a smile of his own anymore.   
  
"So what do you think?" He asks.   
  
She turns to him, holding out the items in front of her. The gleam of the silver rattle catches the light, giving it an almost ethereal glow. The tiny pink hair bow is cradled reverently in her palm. "These things are for the baby," she says softly.   
  
"Yes, but there are plenty of things in there for you as well. Just wait and see what each day brings."   
  
"Liam, this is seriously the most thoughtful, most wonderful gift I've ever received. Thank you."   
  
"Hey, anything for you, Mrs. Spencer."   
  
Her cornflower blue eyes gleam with unshed tears. She carefully sets down the rattle and silk bow and closes the distance between them. His heart starts racing the way it always does when Hope is near. She cups his scruffy cheeks in her hands and kisses him.   
  
His arms slide around her waist and he tugs her as close as her belly between them will allow. "I am sorry if I sounded gruff."   
  
"It's understandable. It is really early, after all."   
  
"Do you like the gifts?" He murmurs into the soft halo of her blonde hair.   
  
"Like them? Oh no. I love them." She stares up at him. "I want to open the rest of the doors now... So can I?  _Please."_   
  
He chuckles. "And they call me the impatient one in this relationship. But sure, why not? I figure I've kept you waiting long enough."   
  
Hope touches his arm. "You've always been worth the wait."   
  
Hope disentangles from his embrace and waddles back over to the advent calendar. She spends the next hour  _oohing_ and  _ahhing_ over every little trinket that the calendar yields.   
  
When they finally climb back into bed, she falls almost immediately into a peaceful slumber, her arms knotted about his lean waist. He just lies there for the longest time, listening to her soft, even breathing. He's no longer tired or cranky. Instead, he's grateful.   
  
Grateful for Hope. She's everything he has ever wanted, and she's all his.   
_  
He figures he has to be just about the luckiest guy in the whole world._


	5. Favorite Holiday Movie

** 5: Favorite Holiday Movie **   
  
Hope's propped up on the sofa; cushions pressed behind her; a large red bowl of Popcorn balancing atop her full belly. The credits roll on the large HDTV as she dabs at her moist cheeks. "Broadcasting Christmas" always gets her tear ducts working over time. Lately, all movies seem to, though.   
  
The doorbell rings and she calls out, "come in!", as the opening scene of the next movie begins. She looks up in surprise as Steffy walks into the living room. She quickly pauses the TV.   
  
"Steffy, hey," she greets her friend. Are they friends? Is that the right word? Yes, they're friends now. At least, she really wants them to be, anyway.   
  
"Hope," Steffy says, "you didn't even check to see who was at the door before you invited me inside! Are you crazy? I could have been a knife-wielding maniac!"   
  
"Oh, no way. It's the Christmas season. Michael Myers has gone into hibernation until next Halloween."   
  
Steffy sighs. "You are just way too trusting. You'd just let anyone walk through that door, wouldn't you?"   
  
"Honestly, I'm just lazy, and didn't want to get off of this sofa. It's awfully hard to move around these days with a watermelon in my stomach."   
  
Steffy smiles. "How is the little 'watermelon' doing?"   
  
"I think she's doing great. I mean, considering all of the kicking she's doing lately." Hope snitches her hand back into the popcorn bowl.   
  
"Well, you've got that whole maternal glow thing going on... It suits you."   
  
Hope grins. "Thank you... Anyway, you couldn't have picked a better time to show up."   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
"I mean, the Hallmark Channel is running an all-day Christmas marathon and my favorite movie of all time is about to start." Hope pulls herself to a sitting position. "Come on over and watch it with me."   
  
Steffy shakes her head. "Oh no, thanks. I really just came by to pick up Kelly's blankie. I forgot it here last night."   
  
"Oh come on. Just stay," Hope says. "This is such a heartwarming film. You are really going to love it."   
  
"Doubtful. And I really do need to get back to the office."   
  
"Excuses, excuses. The whole office won't fall apart if you play hooky for a little while. You're entitled to a break every now and again."   
  
Steffy shrugs. "But playing hooky to watch a Hallmark movie? Really?" She sighs. "Alright. You've twisted my arm; I'll stay. But you better give me some of that popcorn." She slips onto the sofa and holds out her hand.   
  
Hope passes her the bowl. "Dig in."   
  
"What's this movie called anyway?" Steffy asks as she nibbles on a handful of the salty snack.   
  
"'It's called 'Dashing Through the Mall'," Hope answers.   
  
Steffy laughs out loud. "Did you just say, 'Dashing Through the Mall'? What kind of cheesy-ass title is that?"   
  
"Oh stop. I bet you're going to end up loving this movie. I bet you're even going to cry a little. It's a delightful tale about a young widow who helps a grumpy shopkeeper rediscover the magic of Christmas."   
  
Steffy shakes her head. "Ohmigod. I really have heard it all now."   
  
The girls smirk at each other before turning to face the television. For the next two hours, they are engrossed in the film playing on the screen. When the end credits roll, Hope dabs at her cheeks. She looks over at Steffy. She catches the brunette wiping her own eyes as discreetly as she can.   
  
"You're crying," Hope says.   
  
"I'm not crying - you are!" Steffy balks.   
  
"Oh admit it, Steffy, you enjoyed the movie."   
  
Steffy throws a popcorn kernel at Hope. "I did not. I just have something in my eye."   
  
"Sure. Don't even waste your breath telling me otherwise - I know it touched your heart."   
  
Steffy smiles. "Well, the storyline was terribly cheesy and formulaic... but I guess the ending wasn't too bad."   
  
"I told you so," Hope grins. "Candace Cameron Bure really is the Hallmark queen. She always does a great job."   
  
"Well, I guess it wasn't so bad, but I promise you, you're never going to talk me into watching another one of those."   
  
Hope chuckles. "We'll see."   
  
"Thanks for this cool opportunity, but I really do have to go now." Steffy stands and moves for the door.   
  
"Don't forget the baby blanket. I mean, that's what you came for, right?"   
  
"Oh, right," Steffy says. "Sure, of course."   
  
"It's sitting in that basket over there," Hope points out. "I hope little Kelly didn't miss it too much."   
  
Steffy picks up the pink receiving blanket; presses it to her chest. "She did okay without it, for the most part."   
  
"She's a good baby."   
  
"I like to think so," Steffy says. She moves for the door. "I'll see you around, Hope." She lifts her hand in a wave, and she's gone.   
  
Hope smiles as the next movie begins to play. "I think Steffy has really missed me around the office, little girl," Hope tells her baby as she palms her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dashing Through the Mall" is not a "real" Hallmark movie ... but it totally sounds like one, right? LMAO! I could totally see Hope loving Hallmark hehe


	6. Christmas Tree

** 6: Christmas Tree **   
  
Katie's hands rest on her curvy hips as she studies the Christmas tree before her. It's a nine foot spruce with thick green branches and a solid trunk. She tries to imagine it decorated with strings of lights, popcorn, and tinsel. And of course, the handcrafted ornaments Will has made at school.  _Will,_ she thinks.  _He'll like this one, won't he?_   
  
She nibbles her bottom lip thoughtfully. She's on the hunt for the tallest, prettiest tree on the lot. She wants to surprise Will with it. He's been so down in the chops lately - ever since his father reignited his tawdry relationship with Brooke, and started ignoring the little boy all over again.   
  
"Damn Bill. Damn Brooke," Katie mutters.   
  
She moves backwards to give the tree a better look, and topples right into someone.   
  
"Sorry! Oh god, I'm so sorry!" Katie cries out as she manages to catch her balance. She tries in vain to grab onto the other person before they hit the ground, but it's too late.   
  
"Oh no. I'm such a klutz! Are you alright?" She offers her hand to the redhead who is sprawled on the ground.   
  
"No harm done," the woman says as she allows Katie to help her to her feet. When they are face to face, Katie realizes just how familiar she looks.   
  
"Stacy Collins?" Katie asks.   
  
The woman jolts in surprise, as if hearing that name is a shock to her system. "Actually, it's Barton now."   
  
"I'm Katie Logan. I am not sure you remember me, but I'm Brooke's sister."   
  
"Actually, I  _do_ remember you."   
  
Katie grins. "Well, this is totally surreal. It's been such a long time!"   
  
Katie was in high school when Stacy started hanging around the Logan house. She remembers watching Brooke twitter about her room, talking endlessly about boys and makeup, while Stacy would perch on the edge of the bed, thumbing through some book or another with an earnest expression on her face.   
  
Stacy had always been so kind to Katie while most everyone else - Brooke, included - had picked on her because of her terrible acne. Katie had never discovered the reason why Stacy suddenly stopped coming around. She had just assumed that Brooke and Stacy had parted ways after realizing how little they had in common.   
  
"It has been a long time," Stacy agrees. "Time has been kind to you."   
  
"Oh, thank you. And likewise! You look the same as you always did."   
  
Stacy blushes. "Not really, but I appreciate the sentiment."   
  
Katie splays her hands. "Please tell me I didn't hurt you when I barreled into you like that. I really should have looked where I was going."   
  
Stacy offers her a quiet smile. "I am none the worse for wear, honestly."   
  
"Still, I feel awful," Katie expresses. "Can I make it up to you somehow? Maybe buy you a cup of hot chocolate and a helmet just in case I accidentally knock you down again?"   
  
Stacy chuckles softly. "Thank you for the kind offer, but you probably have better things to do."   
  
Katie shakes her head. "No, not really. I still have a few hours to kill before I have to pick up my son from school."   
  
"You have a son?"   
  
"Yes, his name is Will," Katie answers. "He's the light of my life."   
  
Stacy nods. "I can tell. Your eyes just lit up like fireworks when you mentioned him."   
  
"Do you have any children of you own, Stacy?"   
  
The redhead looks at the sky, her feet, anywhere but at Katie. "Uh, I did. Once."   
  
"Oh. I apologize. I didn't mean to pry."   
  
Stacy finally looks at her again. "You didn't. It was a natural question." She rubs her hands up and down her arms like she's suddenly caught a fierce chill.   
  
"Are you sure I can't interest you in a cup of cocoa?"   
  
"Well..." Stacy nods slowly. "Alright, if you have the time. I'd like to sit down anyway. I've been on my feet all day doing the bustling, rush-rush holiday thing."   
  
"I understand that. I'll just pay for this tree and we can head over to the beverage stand across the way."   
  
"That sounds like a plan," Stacy agrees.   
  
Katie smiles. Stacy Collins - make that Barton - is still a mystery to her after all of these years, but one Katie wouldn't mind solving. In all honesty, she could use a friend. And somehow, she believes, Stacy can as well.


	7. Holiday Wishlist

**7: Holiday Wishlist**  
  
"Hey, Aunt Donna?" Will says.  
  
"What's up, buddy?" Donna asks as she comes downstairs to find her nephew sitting on the sofa, a look of concentration on his face.  
  
"Is 'North Pole' one word... Or two?"  
  
"Two. At least, I think so," Donna says. She peeks over his shoulder. "Whatcha doing?"  
  
"Writing a letter to Santa," Will says. "How do you spell reindeer?"  
  
"R-e-i-n-d-e-er."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Of course," she replies. "So what are you asking the 'big man with the bag' for this year anyway?"  
  
Will looks at his aunt. His expression is soft and decidedly sad. "I want my dad to spend Christmas with me."  
  
Donna sighs. "Oh, Will, honey."  
  
"He promised things would be different; that he'd start spending time with me, but I haven't seen him in a really long time. I want Santa to make him love me the way he used to."  
  
Donna reaches for her nephew, sliding her arms around his shoulders. "Oh, babe, he does love you. He's just... busy." She hates making excuses for Bill Spencer. She has tolerated the man in the past, but realizing how much he's hurting his son, she decides in that moment that she really,_ really_ dislikes him. She's also angry at Brooke, rational or not, for turning Bill's head again and helping him shirk his parental duties. It's all so incredibly messed up.  
  
"But he should make time for me."  
  
"I know. You're right; he should. I'm sorry, babe."  
  
She smooths back Will's light brown hair. "I will promise you something though."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That even if Santa can't grant that particular wish this year, we'll still have the best Christmas ever!"  
  
Will looks skeptical, but asks, "How?"  
  
"Well... Hmm ... we can start by making some sugar cookies! I know they're your favorite. Would you like to help me do some holiday baking right now?"  
  
Will looks at his half-written letter longingly and then nods. "Okay. Can we put sprinkles on the cookies?"  
  
"Oh, yes. That's a must!" She tickles him and he laughs as he squirms around. "Lots and lots and lots of sprinkles. Come on, big guy, let's get to the kitchen!"  
  
They are soon covered in flour and sugar from head to toe. Will turns to Donna and asks, "What do you want for Christmas, Aunt Donna?"  
  
Donna thinks about just how to answer. No one has asked her that question in years. She could wish for a reunion of Eric. That's something she's been longing for, for a very long time. But looking at her nephew's sweet little white-powdered face, she decides, there are more important things in life than romance.  
__  
Family. Family is the most important thing ever.  
  
"I wish for you to be wonderfully happy," she says.  
  
Will just smiles and throws his arms around her waist. Donna grins; chest warming, heart beating with pure, maternal-like love for this sweet little boy.


	8. Winter Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have to warn you right now: this is one sad drabble! My muse was apparently in a really angsty mood when she told me to write this. So yeah. I am sorry it's not a fluffy holiday tale.

** 8: Winter Weather **  
  
**New York City,  
** **December 2019**  
  
"It's freezing out there," she says when he turns up on her doorstep. She doesn't need to ask what's bothering him. His personal tragedy is fodder for the gossip-hungry masses. It's the lead story on every news channel. She briefly thinks of that one song by the band she can never remember the name of. _("I make my living off the evening news / Just give me something-something I can use / People love it when you lose / They love dirty laundry.")_  
  
She sighs softly and tugs him into her small apartment. "Come inside before all the heat gets out."  
  
Nick comes to a standstill in the hallway. As if he can't bring himself to move one step further.  
  
She hesitantly reaches out to him, settles her tiny hand on his broad shoulder; gives it a firm squeeze.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" Agnes asks.  
  
He reaches up to cover her fingers with his; grips them tightly, almost painfully, as if he's holding onto her for dear life; as if she's his last tether to sanity.  
  
"What's there to talk about?" He asks. His voice is hoarse. "He's gone. My son is gone. Nothing I say will change that."  
  
Agnes's eyes burn. It hurts her too - remembering that sweet, fair-haired little boy who used to crawl into her lap, hug her so tightly, and ask her to stay with them forever. She can't help but wonder if she had stuck around, if she hadn't let Nick push her away, if things might have ended up differently. Maybe if they had been a united front, they could somehow have altered the course of a very cruel destiny.  
  
She doesn't know what to say to him. Everything she thinks of sounds trite and hollow. She can't make sense of this herself. Jack was just a teenager; still so young; and with a bright future ahead of him. It's so wrong that he isn't here. So, so wrong.  
  
"I'm cold, Agnes, I'm so cold," Nick says. "There's a chill inside of me that won't go away. This weather isn't helping my mood either. Everything's so gloomy; so dark. The days are so short. Maybe I should just go back to L.A. Start over."  
  
"Maybe that's what you need," Agnes offers. "A fresh beginning." She'll miss him if he leaves, but she really does want what's best for him. There is no malice left. Not for him; not even after the way he ended things years before. A part of her still loves him. A big part.  
  
_God help her._  
  
Nick splays his hands. "Who am I kidding? Going back there, I'll just see him everywhere, on every street corner. I'll remember when I held him for the first time. How tiny he was; so small he could fit into my two hands. I'll remember every diaper I changed, and every tear I dried. Most of all, I'll remember that short time when you lived with us on the boat. I never saw Jack happier than when he was around you. He adored you, Agnes. I knew that too. So why did I take that away from him? What right did I have to do that? Why was I such a damn coward; such a fool?"  
  
His shoulders heave and a guttural cry wrenches from his lips. Agnes immediately grabs onto him, holds him tightly. His arms snake around her and he buries his face in her hair. His tears wet her neck. She tries so hard to be stoic. She wants to be strong for him, even if she's breaking into a million pieces.  
  
She knows things can never be quite right for him again. How can they be when there's a huge, gaping hole in the world where Jack Marone should be? But she also realizes, she's going to be there for Nick anyway. Through the tears, and the recriminations, and the doubts. She won't let him force her out again. She will stand by him, the way he once did her. She was a rape victim; living on a prayer and a mountain of shattered dreams. She was so heavy, but when he'd touched her, she was light.  
  
She hopes she can return some of the warmth he once provided her. She will do the one thing that comes the most naturally to her.  
  
_She will love him._


	9. Something Red

** 9: Something Red **  
  
They "accidentally" bump into each other in the hallway. Pam chats animatedly on the phone only two feet away. She doesn't notice Steffy's hand linger on his bicep.  
  
"I'm modeling some new lingerie," Steffy whispers against the shell of his ear. "It's red, lacy, super skimpy. Meet me in my office in two minutes if you want an exclusive sneak peek."  
  
Wyatt swallows hard. Blood rushes to his face and certain other parts of his body. Steffy offers him a little wink and then calmly saunters off.  
  
"Wyatt!" Pam calls to him as she sets down the phone. "Your face is all red."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You look like a turnip," Pam goes on. "Are you running a fever? You might have caught a bug. It's going around the office. You should really consider getting a flu shot. I get one like clockwork every winter and I haven't been sick in almost a decade."  
  
Wyatt tries to cross his hands over the front of his denim jeans. "No, no fever. It just feels ... uh, hot in here. Really, really hot."  
  
Pam sighs. "You're just like Steffy; always complaining about the temperature in here. I mean, I know it's not snowing or raining outside, or anything, but-"  
  
Wyatt backs up. "Speaking of that, I think I'll go outside for a bit. Catch a breather. Talk to you later!"  
  
"Suit yourself," Pam mutters.  
  
Wyatt moves down the hall, looks both ways, and then slips into the office. "Steffy," he gasps out, collapsing against the door. "I thought you wanted to keep us on the DL."  
  
"I do," she says as she starts undoing the buttons on her blouse.  
  
"Then why did you get me all turned on in the hallway? I can barely walk upright with this huge -" He gestures to his pants. "Anyway, I got a bit hot and bothered and your aunt noticed!"  
  
Steffy chuckles as she toys with the second button on her top. "What'd she say?"  
  
His eyes follow the fluttering of her fingers. He wets his lips. "She thought I had the flu, or Dengue fever, or something."  
  
"Oh, I am soooo sorry," Steffy says. She pouts her full lips. "Isn't there some way I can make it up to you?"  
  
Wyatt smirks. "Oh, I think I can come up with a few ideas." He reaches for her, but she laughs and dances away.  
  
"Wait. Just wait a second. I put a lot of effort into this design and I want you to appreciate it."  
  
"Oh you can bet I will. Come back over here."  
  
"Be patient."  
  
"Be patient? Seriously, do you know me at all?"  
  
Steffy doesn't answer; instead, she begins a slow, sexy striptease. She wraps the sleeves of her blouse around his shoulders as she weaves her hips. He pants at the sensation of the cottony fabric sliding along his heated skin.  
  
She shimmies out of her skirt finally, dropping it to the floor. She stands there with her hands thrust up high in the air.  _"Ta-dah!"_  
  
"Oh fuck, Stef, you look incredible!" Wyatt says. His eyes trace the curves of her exposed bronze skin. He reaches out to run his fingers over the soft, plaint lace of her bustier. "Christmas came very early this year."  
  
"So are you on Santa's naughty or nice list?"  
  
"Naughty, very naughty. You're on there with me."  
  
He lifts her up into his arms. She wraps her long, lean legs around his hips. The sharp points of her stiletto heels bite into the flesh of his back as he bends her over the desk.  
  
"Oh yeah. So naughty," she agrees and kisses him on the mouth.


	10. Holiday Music Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am continuing to post this story because we all need some cheer right now, don't we?

** 10: Holiday Music Playlist **   
  
Eartha Kitt croons "Santa Baby" on the stereo system in the Forrester family living room. Maya sings along spiritedly while setting presents underneath the huge spruce tree.   
  
_"Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me  
I've been an awful good girl, Santa baby  
So hurry down the chimney tonight"_   
  
She finishes the song with a spirited crescendo and a wiggle of her hips.   
  
_"Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing,  
A ring.  
I don't mean on the phone,  
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight,  
Hurry down the chimney tonight,  
Hurry, tonight"_   
  
Maya hears clapping behind her. "Brava, brava," her husband's voice greets her ears.   
  
Maya blushes. She turns around to find Rick leaning against the door. "Rick," she laughs, "I didn't know anyone was home."   
  
Rick moves over to her and takes her hands in his. He busses her cheek. "Seems I got here at just the right time."   
  
Maya chuckles. "So you liked the show then?"   
  
"Loved it, actually. It's been a long time since I've heard you sing like that."   
  
"What can I say - I am feeling the holiday spirit."   
  
"I like it. It reminds me of how we met and how I fell in love with you. I remember you were up on stage, singing at Dayzee's, and the moment I heard your voice... I was a goner."   
  
She touches her chest, a feeling of warmth swirling in her heart. "Those were pretty special times," she says. "And just think - now we have all of this; plus a beautiful little girl to call our very own."   
  
"I'd say we're pretty lucky."   
  
"Very lucky," Maya agrees. She nuzzles his cheek with hers.   
  
"So you'll keep singing for me, right?"   
  
Maya nods. "If you want me to."   
  
"Are you kidding? Of course, I do."   
  
"Alright. I'll sing something special just for you." She walks over to the stereo and puts on a new number.   
  
"So what song is next up on your holiday playlist?" Rick asks.   
  
Maya returns to him. She loops her arms around his neck and gives him a soft kiss. "All I Want for Christmas is You," she says with a brilliant smile.   
  
"Mmm, appropriate," Rick murmurs against her lips


	11. Joy is ...

**11: Joy Is...**  
  
He greets her at the door with a soft kiss and a glass of her favorite red wine. After a particularly long and trying day at the office, she appreciates the simple gesture immensely.  
  
"Come warm yourself by the fire. You must be freezing. It's been wet and rainy all day," Eric says.  
  
She doesn't need a second invitation because she really is chilled. Her knit coat was not adequate protection against the sudden dip in temperature. She sinks down in front of the roaring fireplace. The flames dance just beyond the metal grating as she listens to the crackling of the logs.  
  
Eric sits behind her and begins to gently massage her shoulders. She lets out a little purr of delight. She's been carrying so much tension in her back lately. She relishes the feel of Eric's gentle, artist's hands on her body.  
  
"You're giving me the five-star treatment tonight," Quinn says. "What's the occasion?"  
  
"Do I ever need a reason to pamper my beautiful wife?"  
  
"No, I suppose not. But this is just all so wonderful, so perfect... Thank you."  
  
"Anything for you, sweetheart. I love you, Quinn."  
  
She smiles. "I love you too, Eric."  
  
A pleasant silence blankets the room. The lights on the grand Christmas tree cast multi-colored sparkles on the mantle. All of the many voices in her head - the ones that tell her she's not good enough; that she doesn't deserve simple kindness and love - fade gently away.  
  
_This must be what joy feels like,_ she realizes. _This is what **peace** feels like_.


	12. Christmas Cards

** 12: Christmas Cards **   
  
A breathless Charlie throws open the front door and races into Pam's house. He huffs and puffs as he clutches at the front of his rumpled tee-shirt. "Pam, Pam, are you here? I just got your text. I came running right over; didn't even stop to put on my belt. What's going on? What's so urgent?"   
  
Pam walks into the room, a smile on her face. She wears an apron and holds a pristine white envelope in her hands. "The first Christmas card of the year just arrived in the mailbox!" She enthuses.   
  
Charlie sighs. "Well, I should have known. You do this to me every year. And every year, I drop everything and rush right over. I was working on my car when I got the text. I thought you were in trouble or something."   
  
Pam looks sheepish. "Oh, Charlie, you're not angry, are you?"   
  
Charlie shakes his head. He is instantly contrite. "Of course not, Pammy. I could never be angry at an angel like you."   
  
Pam pooh-poohs the idea. "Oh, I am no angel, but it's sweet of you to say so. Why don't you go wash up and we'll open this card? You'll never guess who it's from!"   
  
Charlie starts for the kitchen sink. "One of your nieces?"   
  
"No."   
  
"One of your nephews?"   
  
"Well, not exactly," Pam says. "But for a time, I thought of him as one."   
  
"Okay, I am officially stumped. Who  _is_ it from?"   
  
_"Ollie!"_ Pam says, smacking the envelope against her palm excitedly.   
  
"Ollie - as in Aly's..."   
  
"Aly's boyfriend," Pam says. "Well, former boyfriend now, I suppose." She sighs softly.   
  
Charlie sticks his grease-stained hands under the faucet and suds up his fingers. "Gosh, we haven't seen or heard from in ages! I wonder what he's up to."   
  
"Hopefully, we'll find out."   
  
"You must have sent him fifty letters by now and he never replied to a single one of them, and now all of a sudden, he does. I wonder what's going on."   
  
"I don't know, but I am eager to find out. Let's turn on some Bing Crosby, stoke the fire, and read. The envelope feels thick. There might be a letter in there too."   
  
Charlie turns on the electric fireplace while Pam puts on a record. They sink onto the sofa as the opening strains of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" begin to play softly in the background. Pam looks at the envelope, turning it over and smoothing her fingers over the foreign postmark. "He's in London right now, according to this stamp," she says. "How wonderful for him."   
  
"I agree. Now are you going to open it?"   
  
"Sure," Pam says, "I was just savoring the moment. It doesn't feel like Christmas Time until the cards start to arrive." She picks up a sharp, double-edged letter opener and slices the seal on the envelope. She takes a deep breath and pulls out the contents. There's a greeting card with an old-fashioned church on it. It's set against a snowy landscape and little red cardinals perch along its rooftop.   
  
Pam and Charlie both ooh-and-ahh over the fine detail. Pam finally opens the card and a folded stack of papers fall out, along with a photograph insert. The insert shows Oliver with a pretty, cocoa-skinned young woman.   
  
"This must be the new girl in his life," Pam says softly. "That's nice. I mean, it's good that he's found someone."   
  
"It is," Charlie agrees, "though I must admit, I always thought he'd-"   
  
"End up with Alexandria?" Charlie nods. "Me too," Pam admits. "I miss that sweet girl so much."   
  
"Likewise. I'll never forget how much fun the four of us had at those Medieval jousting tournaments."   
  
"Me either. I haven't had the heart to go to one ever since. It feels wrong without my niece there with us."   
  
Charlie nods. "I agree." He reaches for the photograph collage insert. "She's a looker, huh?"   
  
"Yes, she is," Pam says. She unfolds the thick letter and begins to read. "He says he's doing well; that he's a freelance travel photographer now. That's how he met this girl, when he was doing a shoot. Her name is Tamara. She's an American too. He says when he saw her standing on the steps of the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, he was instantly smitten. He says she's warm, thoughtful, and very deep. What you see is not always what you get. She's a mystery to unravel, just like Aly was - 'complicated, but true, vibrant, and wonderful to know'."   
  
Pam's voice trails off for a moment and she touches her lips. They taste salty and she realizes she is crying. She misses her great-niece; she misses her almost more than words can say.   
  
"What is it, Pammy?" Charlie asks.   
  
"I am just glad he hasn't forgotten Aly."   
  
"Oh no, he couldn't. Aly was unforgettable."   
  
"She was taken away from all of us much too soon, Charlie."   
  
"I know, Pammy, I know." Charlie reaches out and pulls her against his chest. Pam tucks her head in the crook of his neck.   
  
"I'm sorry. I just... It hits me sometimes, you know. The fact that she's not here when she  _should_ be."   
  
"You're right about that."   
  
Pam cries on his shoulder for a long moment and then she sits up resolutely. "I need to pull myself together. I  _have_ to."   
  
"Pam, you're allowed to grieve, sweetheart. It's only natural. Aly was so young. She had so much life left in her. Of course, you're sad... Perhaps we should put the letter away for now. It's clearly gotten to you."   
  
"No, it's okay. Really. I want to read the rest. I need to know Ollie's happy because that's what Aly would have wanted for him."   
  
"For all of us."   
  
Pam nods. "Yes." She continues to read through misty eyes. "He says he is sorry for not keeping in touch; that it took him all of this time to finally start to make peace with what happened. We were a reminder of what he lost and while he isn't proud of it, he felt he needed to put his past in L.A. aside for awhile. If we're agreeable to it though, he says he'd like to visit us in the new year. He concludes by wishing us a merry holiday season. And adds,  _'P.S. I will love and miss Aly forever, but I really hope she would be happy for me'."_   
  
Another tear rolls down Pam's cheek but this time, she realizes it's not a sad tear. She's truly happy that Oliver found someone to love again; someone who could help ease the pain on his troubled heart.   
  
"Oliver deserves a good life full of love," Pam says. "I'm going to write him back and say that of course, we'd love to see him. And that we'd like it if he brought Tamara along with him."   
  
Charlie smiles. "You're a good woman, Pamela Douglas."   
  
"Thank you, Charlie, but Ollie's... Well, he's always going to be like family to me. Losing Aly the way we did and then losing contact with him... It's been very difficult. But I feel now, somehow, that healing can begin to happen. We'll never forget Aly-"   
  
"Of course we won't."   
  
"- but we can remember her with love, and be grateful for her, and how she brought Oliver into our lives. We knew him before, sure, but because of her, we all became family. And family-"   
  
"It's everything, isn't it?"   
  
"Yes, it is. And I promise that someday soon, you and I are going to be an official family. I'll be so proud to take your name."   
  
Charlie's eyes light up. "You mean it, Pammy? We'll finally get married?"   
  
"Yes, we will, and who knows - maybe Oliver can even come to the wedding."   
  
"I'd like that very much."   
  
"Me too," Pam says. She snuggles into his embrace, quietly musing over how she'll respond to Oliver in her own Christmas card.   
  
_"Dear Oliver..."_


End file.
